Thyme will be out December 21, 2011.
“Keep me company tomorrow night, too?” Dix asked quietly.
“Of course.”
Dix was silent for a while, his thumb brushing Patrick’s shoulder. “And the night before
they send me to prison?” he whispered. “Keep me company that night, too?”
“You’re not going to prison.”
“I don’t know how to prove my innocence, Patrick.”
“Nicky wants to see the accounts. He’ll find a way. And if he doesn’t — we’ll find
something else. But you can account for all your income, you pay your full taxes, you
report every gift — you’re an honest man. They’ll see that. They’ve got to.”
Dix looked at him again, a faint smile on his lips, his eyes oddly bright. “Thank you,” he
said and cleared his throat. “For having faith in me. It means a lot.”
“Of course I have faith in you.” He swallowed and wondered if Dix was even aware he
still had his arm around Patrick’s shoulders. He hoped not, because then Dix might move
away. “You — you’re the only thing I have faith in anymore.”
“Patrick,” Dix breathed and Patrick cupped Dix’s face in his hands and Dix’s hand knotted
into his hair, and Patrick tasted that sensitive mouth. Dix’s skin was cool from being
outside but his mouth was warm and tasted like thyme from dinner. His strong fingers
massaged Patrick’s head and he sucked in Patrick’s breath, and when he tugged Patrick
closer Patrick went willingly, climbing onto him.
This was Dix’s body, solid and sturdy, his thighs, his hips — it wasn’t enough to just look
at him, not when Patrick could touch. He touched, broad shoulders, powerful arms, a
deep and sturdy chest, the long throat where he could feel Dix’s pulse racing under his
fingertips. He stroked Dix’s throat, his jaw and his cheekbones.
Dix caught his hand and clasped it tightly. Patrick held Dix’s head and kissed him deeper,
unable to keep back the keening noises that escaped his throat. So many years, so much
longing…